Chapter 3 #3
‘But it’s your home – you love that place, and you’ve done so much work to it.
I’m not selling your house, Mum.’ It had been the proudest day of his life when he’d bought her that house.
She’d worked so hard to give him a good life growing up – to get their own place and send him to a good school.
It hadn’t been easy for her as a young single mother, and he knew she’d made a lot of sacrifices.
But she’d always been cheerful and content, and never made him feel like a burden or as if she hankered after any other kind of life than the one they had.
He’d been so happy to be able to do something for her in return when he started making real money with Oh Boy!
He remembered the day she’d got the keys and the three of them had gone up there with a bottle of champagne.
His mum had been teary and emotional as she went from room to room, saying over and over that she couldn’t believe it was hers, and that Roly had done this for her.
She kept thanking him, and telling him how proud she was of him.
His nan had said ‘He’s a credit to you,’ which was a lot from her and made his mum cry all over again.
He’d been barely twenty, a multimillionaire.
It had felt like all her hard work and sacrifices had paid off at last, and all she’d invested in him – time, money, faith – was finally being rewarded.
It would kill him if she had to sell that house. It was the one good thing he’d done with his money and he wasn’t going to let that be wiped out by his stupidity along with everything else.
‘Well, I can’t offer to downsize,’ his nan said, looking around the tiny kitchen.
She’d refused his offer to buy her somewhere fancier.
She’d lived in this house all her married life, and she’d grown up in the neighbourhood.
She had no interest in moving, but she had let Roly buy her a new kitchen and pay for some renovations.
‘But no one has to worry about being on the street,’ she continued. ‘There’ll always be room for you here, you know that – both of you.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Loretta smiled. His nan could be a tough old boot, but she had a heart of pure marshmallow, especially when it came to family. She’d never ‘see anyone stuck’ as she’d put it.
‘We did it before, and we can do it again.’
‘Roly’s grown a bit since then,’ Loretta said drily.
Christine shrugged. ‘It’d be a squeeze, but we’ll work it out.’
‘Anyway, I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ Roly said.
‘I still have enough in the bank to live on for a while.’ He tried to sound like he wasn’t worried, but it scared him how quickly it dwindled when there was nothing coming in – and no Bank of Marty now to top it up when stocks got low.
He’d got used to having a cushion – a very big cushion – and it was frightening knowing it wasn’t there any more.
‘You could always get a lodger,’ his mum said. ‘You have the spare bedroom.’
‘Maybe.’ He drummed his fingers on the table, considering the idea.
It could be the ideal solution, as long as he didn’t end up sharing the place with some weirdo.
It would give him some income while he got back on his feet.
He had no mortgage to pay, so he didn’t need much.
He’d have to look up what rents were like when he got home.
‘Well, I’m sure something will turn up.’ His mum squeezed his hand.
That was her all over – just hope for the best and somehow things will miraculously ‘work out’ or ‘turn up’.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said more forcefully, putting her hand on his arm and looking him square in the eye. ‘We’ll manage, okay?’
He nodded, feeling soothed. ‘Okay.’ His lovely mum – she was all pillowy softness on the surface with her pale-blonde hair, big blue eyes and soft breathy voice.
It was easy to underestimate her. But underneath her fluffy exterior there was a core of pure steel that was all the more effective for being unexpected.
There was no one better to fight your corner, and she’d always been able to fix things for him.
Whether he was worried about his homework or having trouble with some guy at school, he could rely on her to sort it out and make everything all right again.
‘Okay?’ she said again.
‘Yeah, I’ll be fine.’
* * *
When he got back to his house, he pulled out his laptop and ate half the packet of biscuits he’d forgotten to give to his nan while he looked up property sites.
He began to feel more optimistic when he saw what rents you could charge for a bedroom in a house share.
For the first time since Marty died, he felt like he could breathe.
He was even a little bit excited at the prospect of having a steady income.
Even the thought of having a roommate was kind of appealing.
He’d have to vet them, of course, but he could get someone really cool, someone who’d be a friend rather than just a lodger, someone he could hang out with.
He treated himself to a bowl of ice-cream in front of the TV to celebrate.
It felt like the start of a new chapter. He could really turn things around.
That night he slept soundly, and the next morning he got up and stood in front of the full-length mirror, taking in the flabbiness of his belly, the pallor of his skin, the dark bags under his eyes.
Then he went downstairs and went through the contents of the kitchen, throwing out frozen pizzas, a bin-load of sliced white bread, family size bars of chocolate and what was left of the biscuits he’d bought yesterday.
He didn’t even feel guilty about it. Because yes, there were people starving in the world; but he wasn’t one of them.